


Bucky & the Beast

by thejamesoldier



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Challenge Response, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, POV Bucky Barnes, Reader-Insert, Sexual Tension, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 02:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17034934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejamesoldier/pseuds/thejamesoldier
Summary: Prompt:“You were an asshole back in high school but now you’re my boss.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! So this ficlet is for my darling friend Erin’s ( @theassetseyeliner ) AU Writing Challenge on Tumblr! I submitted a request for this prompt on her original post! Please go support her and all the participating authors who worked hard on their submissions :) Now onto the story xxx

_Part 1 of 2_

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not that you weren’t a nice person...on the inside, very very very deep inside. You just didn’t allow any form of slacking amongst your employees. 

And seeing as you not only own this multi-billion dollar company but also actively run it, you’re pretty sure you have the right to dictate everything that goes on under your nose when it comes to this business. You drove yourself into the grave to get this company where it is now, and you continue to work yourself down to hell every damn day to keep it as successful as it is. 

Of  _course_ you know most of your staff views you as a complete tyrant. Of  _course_ you know your nickname on all sixty-eight levels of your high rise company building is ‘Bitch’. Of  _course_ you know you’re often compared to Miranda Priestly, the star of Devil Wears Prada. Of  _course_ you know you’ve been harsh enough to earn some of that resentment.  

But you also know you have the undying respect of every major corporation in the world (which wasn’t easy to get since most of them are privileged older men who have too many cultural and moral deficiencies to count). The likes of which was solely earned by unignorable success, brutal consistency, and fear. You wished you didn’t have to be feared in order to be respected by some (most) people, but the ways of the world weren’t going to change that fast unfortunately. 

It surprised you at first how many people tried to take advantage of you, of your company, of your money, of your weaknesses, of practically everything they could manage to find. You were always pretty blunt and a bit maniacal about perfection even back in high school, but having been beaten by an ocean of manipulative greedy people for years now, wave after wave after  _wave_ , you’re pretty jagged and dulled to it. You’ve found the only way to survive in this business world is to always expect the worst of people. It keeps you prepared for every situation even if it is an exhausting way to live. 

Sometimes you worry if it is all worth it, but you then remember how much money your company is making and how all of it goes to support people, companies, philanthropies, arts institutions, and schools who need it. If the cost of good being put into this world is your warped personality, then so be it. 

“Barnes I need those write ups on the work Ms. Romanoff’s team did this quarter. I asked for final copies yesterday, why are they late?” You question your head personal assistant in clipped efficient sentences as you strut down the long stretch of a modern elegant hallway, the sleek double doors of your main office looming at the end of it. 

With your Prada high heels clicking sharply (if not a bit ironically) against the marble floor as you make your way to your gilded office, you scroll through an email on your phone sent from one of your board members while you wait for Barnes to put together an answer. The email consists of a polite reminder that you have a Skype call with Stark Industries this afternoon. 

As if you’d forget. 

With a punctuated scoff you burst into your glass office, not having to slow down your stride at all as Barnes moved with practiced haste to hold one of the doors open for you. You don’t bother with a thank you (even if you feel the manners your mother ingrained in you cringe and shriek in horror) but instead head nose up to your simple but stately desk. As you situate yourself behind it, booting up your desktop and quickly scanning some sticky-note reminders Barnes left for you the previous night before crumpling them in one ball and dropping them in the waste bin by your feet, you feel the  _very_ short leash you have on your patience strain. 

Without glancing up at him you bark out, “Well?” 

You hear the man clear his throat and know automatically that he’s preparing to take the fall for Romanoff’s team. Barnes always has had this habit to take the heat meant for someone else’s mistake himself, and allow whoever the guilty party is an extra second to fix whatever the problem was. It’s never effected the success of your company, so you’ve always let it slide. If you were being completely honest with yourself you know deep down that that’s why you’ve kept him around so long. James Barnes is the one person (okay maybe besides Natasha Romanoff) who holds the all time record of longest employment in your company. He’s also never been promoted from his place as Head Personal Assistant when you hired him into it a good few years back.  

He’s only craftily brought up the issue of never moving up a few times, not wanting to push his luck with you, but other than that there’s never been a word of complaint like other employees you’ve had. One day when you’ve finally been run down enough, when the world has finally sucked all the life from you, you’ve decided that it’s James who you’ll give the company to. Of course no one knows this, but you made the decision quite some time ago. 

“Ms. Romanoff had an issue with getting a closure on the deal,” Barnes starts up in his trademark baritone tenor of compassion, “She had all the finished documents written up by yesterday, it was me who failed to pass them to you.” 

Still you don’t look at him, but you do silently translate what he’s saying as you open up your email account and start sorting through your inbox for the most important emails. Basically, Barnes is saying:

“ _Ms. Romanoff had no trouble badgering the client for the final papers, it was the client who failed to turn in everything on time. And since you never blame the client, its professionally Natasha’s fault. So therefore she did not have all the documents written up yesterday but pulled an all-nighter to finish everything and send said polished summary of the transaction to me first thing this morning. I’m lying for her (and probably without her knowledge) because I’m an annoyingly considerate man with pretty eyes and a wicked sharp jaw who is used to your unforgiving nature and shall take the fall for everyone because I am this company’s sparkling hero.”_

Resolutely  _put-off_ with the very unprofessional way your mental translation ended up going, your mood sours sufficiently from its already foul natural state. You feel your face pinch deeper into its usual dissatisfied scowl. 

“It is very unlike Ms. Romanoff to have any delays in her work. Give her one of my warnings.” You say in a mildly bitter tone as you reach a hand blindly over your desk towards Barnes in silent demand, while clicking on an email with the other hand and scanning it halfheartedly at the same time.

A packet of paper is slid gently into your expecting fingers and as you place them on the desk space beside your angled keyboard, you hear Barnes tap his thumbs across his phone as he sends you an e-copy of the papers you were just handed. When the email arrives in your inbox with a ding, it serves as the only acknowledgment that you received the email. It also is simultaneously Barnes’ dismissal. 

Only when you hear your assistant sit down at his own smaller desk across the room from yours and start shuffling papers and things around, do you realize that you had automatically begun reading through the transaction summary he sent you. After you triple proof it (even if Natasha has  _never_ once made a mistake on her write ups), you forward everything to the cooperation partnering with you on this deal. Your trademark punctuality and promised results the only things that matter to you much these days. 

You cut a quick side glance across the room at Barnes hunched over his own pile of work and wonder if you said thank you the next time he held the door open for you, if he’d make a big deal out of it. With an internal scoff you brush your gushy feelings swiftly away and replace them with your self-made workaholic robot. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky’s patience with you is growing shorter and shorter each year, month, week, day, and  _second_ he works under you. Outwardly he’s mastered himself, but inwardly he’s been stewing and is quite near his boiling point. As he halfheartedly unclips a review packet from one of the company’s specialty divisions to go over before he hands it to you -- Miss Wicked Bitch of Best -- he wonders if it would kill you to say thank you when he opened the door, or maybe  _look at him_ when he talks. Bucky doesn’t even know what color your eyes are because he doesn’t think you’ve ever actually looked him in the eyes before. 

And sure you take him to all the fancy business galas and parties and soirees and events and fundraisers, but you always maintain this formal professional wall. Even late nights at the office when it’s literally you, him, and a couple janitors (hell, you’ve both even  _slept_ at the office before) you still remain aloof and unapproachable. It’s not like he wants to get to know you, because honestly you seem like a pretty lonely sad bitter person anyway, but it’s downright  _unnatural_ how little anyone seems to know about you. Even when he wades through his high school memories, all he can remember about you is vaguely labeling you an asshole. Which really doesn’t help your case. 

But if Bucky knows anything, it’s that no one is an unfeeling robot. 

Even if they pretend to be, even if they  _believe_ themselves to be, there is  _always_ something down there. At the bottom of a soul there is always a nugget of brilliance. Bucky knows you’re not oblivious to what people say about you, but he wonders whether you just don’t care or you’ve crafted it that way to wield as a tool. He’s not sure which one is worse. Either way he thinks that you could handle things a bit more considerately and still have the respect you deserve. Because if there is one thing Bucky has to admire, it’s your resilience and unyielding desire to see things through. Your dedication to the company and all the good it brings is your one redeeming quality. You also have never done under the table deals or slipped into black market territory, its one of the reasons Bucky hasn’t quit. This company is  _clean_ and  _good_ and  _successful_. Which is saying a lot in this economy. You also never under pay or over pay your employees, and you’re brutal but you’re fair. 

And as Bucky’s thoughts circle back to stifling aggravation as he watches you type away unfussed and unpleasant as ever at your elevated desk, he goes to curl his hair behind his ear, per habit, to shake himself free of his thoughts, but realizes quite abruptly that he can’t. You had asked (well more like threatened and demanded) him to cut his long hair, claiming it  _‘ruined the aesthetic and feel that this company represents_ ’ and finds his aggravation churning into poorly bottled fury. Other people in your employment had long hair, I mean you didn’t really uphold any restrictions on hair, hats, head-dresses, or any type of clothing as long as you were put together. So it literally made  _no sense_  that Bucky was singled out. 

Little did he know you asked him to cut it because those dark luscious locks were distracting as hell and made him too handsome for you to be able to rationally handle. I mean you were around him practically 24 hours a day, bless your soul. You know it was a horrible play on power, and probably earned you a one-way ticket to hell, but you’d rather come off posturing and domineering than love sick or undisciplined. I mean he was just as good looking with it cut short, but you told yourself the short hair made it easier to ignore him as a man and see him only as your assistant. 

But much to your chagrin it really,  _really_ didn’t help.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Barnes close out the rest of this meeting. Summarize it to me in detail on the way to the fundraiser.” You bark after you politely dismissed yourself from the Skype call with Tony Stark, the call on mute as you stand from your chair and crisply motion for Barnes to replace you.

Bucky grits his teeth and nods when you brush past him, trying not to let the fact that you assumed (as you always did) he’d be attending the fundraiser with you tonight  _and_  left him to clean up after you with the meeting pleasantries, anger him to the point of hysteria. He wasn’t your maid for Christ's sake, and just because he wouldn’t miss the fundraiser because of the opportunity to meet clients and business partners, why the hell did you always hitch him to your wagon for the evening?  

You exit the conference room with a blooming confidence and a rare small smile the second you’re in a private enough area to let the expression soften your face. The itch to go back in there and make sure everything finished okay spreads under your skin like a rash but you breathe and stay rigid with yourself, knowing that in order to properly groom Barnes for your job one day, you had to learn to delegate to him more than you used to. And closing out a deal,  _especially_ with one as important as Stark Industries, was major. Barnes is more than capable though, and a small part of you is...proud of him. 

You’re not sure when this nugget of utter blind faith in him started to become something much more complicated than trust in an employee, and developed into something dangerous. Dangerous like  _awe and adoration_ dangerous. Dangerous like  _fond_ dangerous. Dangerous like  _love_  dangerous.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The long clean leather seat of the limo separates you two. 

You give Barnes your (mostly) undivided attention as he dutifully regales the deal closure with Stark this afternoon. You’re scrolling through your email, then your calendar, then your messages trying to avoid looking up at Barnes. The second you spotted him in one of his gala tuxes, [it’s your favorite one of his](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/21/cb/35/21cb357c27bc912870ab2680da2b323b.png) actually since he rotates through them (I mean you don’t expect him to buy a new one for every event, you’re not that unreasonable), you knew it would be a long goddamn night. The subtle navy shine of the tux catches in the corner of your eye under the dimmed lights of the luxury car no matter how hard you stare at your phone screen. 

When he finishes his report you nod your approval knowing that’s all he’s used to getting from you in terms of praise. With a knot of anxiety growing by the second in the back of your throat, making it almost impossible to breathe, you glance up at him from under your lashes. He’s mirroring you across the car, phone out, focus down, and body held with the formality you insisted be constantly upheld between you. 

The first thing your eyes land on is his exposed clavicle where his collarbone frames the base of his neck. In this rare indulged moment of weakness you allow yourself to wonder what the hollow of his neck would taste like, what would it feel like against the texture of your lips. With great effort you drag your eyes away from the tempting oasis of his skin to sprawl along the sleek dark navy of his outer coat. The button up underneath is a stark crisp white, accenting the tan of his skin and drawing your gaze back inevitably to his revealed skin. The first few buttons of the dress shirt are undone and the stiff folded collar is laid open in a roguish carefree type fashion. 

Since the fundraiser is more lowkey and relaxed, you don’t have the excuse to reprimand him for no tie, to demand he cover up that tease of skin and hint of peck muscles. No, you were doomed to suffer because the tailored pants did little to help either. The clean line of the material hugs his thighs, two long strong twin muscles that bunch a bit when he stands or sits down. You cross your legs as something heavy and hot settles in your core, startling you a bit out of the spell Bucky unknowingly put you under. 

A bit desperately you try to find a fault, something to pick apart, some straggling imperfection to prove to yourself that you are uneffected by this man. And you quickly realize you can’t because when you look past his attire, the naked allure of his features takes you by storm. His hair is as rich as ever, styled lightly to allow the slight wave in the coffee locks the freedom to curl away from his forehead and settle in a small wave atop his head. Strong brows stand guard over the softness of his eyes, the glacial blue of the irises protected further by a swath of sooty lashes.The straight nose and full generous mouth sit atop a sturdy chin, a gentle cleft runs down the middle of it adding to his seemingly endless good looks. His jaw as you’ve observed many a time is as sharp and wicked as ever. 

“You didn’t shave.” 

The observation escapes your lips before you could wrangle it back behind the bars of your clenched teeth. Bucky’s eyes jump up at you like you had yelled at him instead of spoken in a normal tone. But its then you realize that it wasn’t a normal tone at all, it was, you...you spoke to him  _softly_ \--

“Um no.” Bucky answers a bit uncertainly, not sure where you’re taking this. You never comment on his appearance or attire unless it’s to criticize it. He waits inevitably for the verbal lashing.

When the lashing doesn’t come and you both just continue to stare at each other in throbbing silence, Bucky feels awkwardness lay like a heavy blanket over you two. It’s almost startles him when he sees that you’re looking at him. And not just looking at him, but looking him  _in the eyes_. 

“It, It’s just a bit of stubble,” Bucky struggles out, trying to make any kind of sense of the current situation, “I thought since it’s going to be a more, um, relaxed atmosphere I could get away with it. I can go buy a razor and shave it off before we get there if you...want...” 

Bucky mentally kicks himself for offering, I mean how pathetic. But the stumbling words were better than the silence because for some reason the silence felt different then usual, it felt  _dangerous_. 

“No, no,” You eventually say as your brain continues to churn itself into fluffy goo when Bucky shifts his phone and his bicep pushes up protestingly against the smooth sleeve of his tux. “It’s fine.” 

Without another word you lock down the vulnerability you feel leaking onto the canvas of your face and shove your gaze back down to your phone.You will yourself not to blush. 

The rest of the car ride passes in tense silence. It’s the most exposed you’ve felt in a while, to say the least.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The fundraiser has been going like all of them do: clinically well. Bucky expects no less when you’re in attendance though. The dinner wasn’t the best he’s ever had but he made sure not to leave anything on his plate weary of wasting food. You sat perched and cool as ever beside him, engaging in the usual articulate oratory games with the clients and business partners seated at your large table. 

Why Bucky kept expecting you to act  _different_  confuses him. He keeps waiting for something to change, for a small tiny hint that something has shifted in you, or maybe between you and him, he doesn’t know. Just  _something_. And when you make him feel like a fool for assuming such a thing by acting the exact same way you always have, Bucky kicks himself. One weird conversation in the limo and he’s hoping for...hoping for what? 

With an internal scoff he tunes back into the conversation, and just in time because you hand the topic reigns to him in that moment and suddenly Bucky is leading everybody into his own oratory arena. 

You take a measured sip from your water glass as Bucky effortlessly accepts the responsibility of the conversation and takes it away. Being able to hold a conversation in a small meeting is one thing, but being able to lead an entire table of sponsors, clients, partners, and whoever else into complex discussion is quite another. You try not to let your pride produce too many butterflies in your stomach as you continue to sip your water and listen to the man beside you prove to you how very deserving he is of what you plan to give to him one day. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Ms. Y/l/n,” Bucky says as everyone starts getting up to dance when the live band plays something easy and fun for the guests. You turn towards him slightly in your seat and bring your glass down from your lips as an indication to speak. “May I go say hello to Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers?” 

Your eyes zip over Bucky’s shoulder and land across the reception hall on the table where all your best employees are sitting laughing and enjoying themselves, some of them getting up to dance. For a quick beat you consider keeping Barnes all to yourself but know how selfish and petty that would be. You know Barnes is nearly sick of you. 

“Please,” You relent as kindly and professionally as you can manage, motioning with your glass towards his friends, “Go enjoy.” 

With a quick (if a little bitter) thank you, Barnes blasts away from you to join the merriment across the room. You heard the hint of potent distaste Barnes had having to ask your permission to leave your side and wonder if you’ve let yourself become to much of the monster you thought you had to be in order to be successful. 

And maybe it’s not just to be successful, maybe you donned a monster’s skin to protect yourself. 

You know that if you took away the pretty cool collected skin of that monster, a jagged scared furious soul would be revealed. A sigh and another sip of water is the only outward sign you give that broadcasts your constant inner turmoil. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Damn! Wicked Bitch of the Best let you go? Impossible,” Nat croons as Bucky plops into the seat Sam offers him as he hurries out onto the dance floor with a chick from accounting. 

“Ha ha very funny,” Bucky bites back as he relaxes down into the chair while pouring himself a brimming glass of champagne, chugging it all back in one go. 

Steve, sitting on his other side, raises his eyebrow at his friend’s large shot, “I take it business is done for the night.” 

Bucky places the glass flute down carefully on the tablecloth and rolls his lips in as he swallows. 

“Yep,” Bucky breathes, catching his breath a little, “I believe ‘Please, go enjoy’ were her exact words.” He states in heavy sarcasm as he runs a hand through his hair, pouring himself another glass. 

“How generous of her,” Nat allows before standing up and offering her hand down to Bucky, “And now something generous from me.” 

Bucky eyes Nat’s hand suspiciously over the lip of his glass. Natasha was pretty nice (if she felt like it), but she never gave out freebies. He follows the line of her arm up to her severe beautiful face. He squints at the look in her eye. 

“Dance with me,” She says with a roll of her eyes at his well placed suspicion, “It’s a thank you for covering my ass the other day even though I  _specifically_  told you not.” Natasha informs in jesting but fond reprimand. 

Bucky smirks at her, appeased, and takes her hand.

“No complaints here then doll.” 

Steve laughs as they zip off to the dance floor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Watching Bucky with his friends, then dance with Ms. Romano -- with  _Natasha_ , that familiar haunting feeling that you know is loneliness begins to seep into your bones and saturate your soul. It’s loneliness that is so thick, so inexorable, you have trouble  _breathing_. Trying not to make your movements too jerky as to call alarm you stand and make your way out of the hall. You’re intercepted a few times, making your final formal goodbyes and thanks, before heading out to the street. 

You call your driver and have him take you back to the company. 

It takes all your self control and dignity to keep from out right running to your floor. When you make it there about a century later, you burst into your moonlit office and shut off all the security cameras in it. That’s when you lose it. 

With harsh tears running down your cheeks and ruining your make up you violently through yourself into your desk chair and start going through files of successful projects. You slowly but surely remind yourself why your doing this, why life has to be so hard. All the good you’re giving to the world is worth something, its worth this loneliness...it  _is._

It’s worth it, its worth it, its worth it, its worth it, its worth it...

You repeat this in your head as you continue to review years old projects and partnerships and lives that you have bettered. Though the tears and throat-wracking sobs never stop, you eventually convince yourself it’s enough. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky was informed first thing this morning by the front desk that the security cameras in Ms. Y/l/n’s office were turned off at about 11:30pm last night and have not been turned back on. Seeing as it’s only you and Bucky who have the codes to do that, Bucky wasn’t too concerned because the other cameras proved it was you who had entered the office last night. Bucky wasn’t quite sure why you felt the need for that much privacy but he shook himself free of the disturbingly instinctual urge to care. 

When he gets to the fogged-glass double doors and pulls on the sleek handles only to realize they’re locked, he hesitates in opening them with his copy of the key. Instead he finds himself knocking. 

“Ms. Y/l/n?” He calls politely, professionally. 

You jerk awake at your desk. Your head pounds with dehydration and the entire right side of your face is stiff and indented with red lines that make up about half of your keyboard. The desktop in front of you is asleep, the large black screen serves as a mirror to reflect to you your less than put together appearance. 

Your make up is a crusting mess, your hair is sticking out every which way, and your eyes are about as puffy and red as Rudolph's nose. 

“Ms. Y/l/n? Are you, are you alright?” 

At the sound of Barnes’ voice on the otherside of the office doors, a horrible twisting flare of panic lights up in your gut. Trying to remain calm, you stand up only to collapse back down into the chair because one of your legs fell asleep. 

“I’m fine Jam -- Barnes, just go do the morning rounds, please.” You stutter as you limp like Gollum (sans your heels from last night) across your pristine office to the private bathroom with a closet you keep extra clothes and things in. 

Bucky is near speechless and knows something is wrong now. You almost called him James for one, and even more disturbing...you said  _please_. He’s unsure if he should leave you in such an obviously confused state of mind, but figures he’d only earn himself a punishment if he intruded or was somehow wrong that you were indeed having a, a  _moment._

“I’ll be back in twenty to discuss the profits made last night.” Bucky found himself informing, not sure why he felt the need to give her a time to be ready by. 

What an odd feeling to know that for once, you weren’t thirty steps ahead of him. It’s the first sign of humanity he’s seen you display and it’s tripping him out. 

You listen carefully as his footsteps fade away down the hallway and you throw yourself into getting ready. Twenty minutes later Bucky knocks and you call him in. You can feel him analyzing you, looking around for something out of place, but you made sure to hide any evidence of a disturbance or weakness. 

Bucky finds you pristine and cool and severe as ever, and he realizes that the sinking in his gut is disappointment. Not that he wants to see you struggling, but for a sign you are more than a robot. That you trust him enough to reveal at least that. But you carry on normal and cold and Bucky reminds himself again to stop searching for something that isn’t there. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh god!” You shriek, you  _shriek_ , in surprise as you burst into a storage closet intent on finding an ink cartage (since you had Bucky in a minor meeting with the board, you know power delegation and all, and were more than capable of finding ink on your own dammit), and instead find Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter engaging in some...heavy petting. 

The two of them share your immense shock and separate like oil in water, cheeks, ears, and necks red as roses. They both wait for you to do something, but you continue to stand there like it was you who was walked in on. Slowly you walk across the small room, thanking every god you could think of that the ink cartridges were on the opposite side of the space than Steve and Peggy were standing in, and retrieve your ink with their eyes guiltily following your every move. 

Before you leave you heft a neutral glance over your shoulder and say, 

“Rogers those charts better be in four, and Carter if I don’t have those reports in my inbox by the end of the day I’ll be very displeased.” And with your face safely turned back towards the hallway you say with a little smirk on your face, “Excuse the interruption.”  

You hear the two collapse into hushed horrified laughter muffled behind the door as you strut back to your office with a poorly concealed smile on your face and the urge to giggle bottled up tight in your throat. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Barnes returns from the meeting with a muted breezy expression on his face which you’ve learned to interpret that meant things went well. You listen to him summarize the meeting for you while pretending to read one of the charts Rogers just sent you on your computer. The memory of finding them in the closet this afternoon hits you hard and you have to cough in order to stop the laugh bubbling along your throat and tickling your tongue. 

Bucky pauses thinking your cough was a sign to stop talking, but when you glance side ways at him and raise an eyebrow he hurriedly continues on. It’s not until you both have settled at your respective desks across the room and Bucky gets up and heads to the printer stationed on a desk against the wall, that things start to head down hill. 

It’s not until you notice him fiddling with the printer making grumbling sounds of obvious annoyance (which you don’t find adorable, you  _don’t_ ) that you realize belatedly that you still hadn’t put in the new cartridge. Wordlessly you stand, grabbing the ink cartridge off your desk, and head over to the printer. Bucky moves over and watches you take out the empty cartridge and drop it in the waste bin by your feet. And when you take the new one out of its thin box and plastic wrapping, you feel your resistance to the hilarity you went through to get it quickly dissolve. 

You stand frozen staring down at the ink for long enough that Bucky thinks you might not know how to put it in, even if you did just take out the old cartridge. 

“Would you like me to do it?” He offers as neutrally as he can, getting all sorts of weird vibes from the expression that keeps flickering across your down turned face. 

And you break.

It might have been Bucky’s words, or just the ink cartridge sitting oh so innocently in your palm, but it was most likely the vivid memory of walking in on Steve and Peggy. You start laughing. At first it’s under your breath, but the more you try to contain the sound the more out of your grasp it gets. You look up as your laughter gets more confident, brighter, and you find Bucky staring at you like you’ve finally lost it. Maybe you have because you burst into even louder laughter, the noise colorful and easy, falling into snickers when you need to breathe before returning with a cackling vengeance as you push the air back out. 

Bucky doesn’t know whether to be disturbed or entranced. It hits him hard then that he’s never actually seen you laugh, or  _smile_  for that matter. And not a business smile but a real one, the one you’re giving him right now. He finds himself smiling to, grinning ear to ear as he watches you collapse into infectious gorgeous laughter. 

“Oh god,” You wheeze as you try to mop up some of the tears from the corners of your eyes, but the words only remind you how you had shrieked them earlier and another peel of giggles wrings themselves out of you. 

Bucky is utterly speechless. He’s in complete awe. The woman standing before him is alive and vibrant and  _laughing_. So this is what he’s been hunting for inside that cruel robot all these years.  _This_ is who he’s unconsciously been holding out for. She’s real. She’s here with him finally. 

“What,” Bucky stutters and loses his train of thought as you face him again and he’s left stupefied by the happiness in your face, how beautiful it makes you. I mean you were always beautiful, but in a cruel removed wave. Like you would eat him alive instead of grace him with a smile. 

“It’s nothing,” You attempt to recover through another giggle, “I just intruded on some, some  _frivolity_  earlier.” 

Bucky nods not satisfied in the least with just that, not wanting this moment to end. Not wanting this woman to disappear behind a maze of masks to a place he can’t reach. But the inevitable happens and he watches, silently mournful, as the walls come back up and the monster’s skin is pulled back on. With a sniff you efficiently change the cartridge and turn away without another word, your scowl returned to the throne of your lips once more. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> “You were an asshole back in high school but now you’re my boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words on the first part! It feels good to be writing again and im sorry it took so long! xxx

_Part 2 of 2_

 

* * *

**A Year Earlier**

Staring at your screen you don’t attempt to strangle back the weary snarl that forms on your lips when you read about your biggest competitor in the New York Times. HYDRA Inc had a monopoly on the business world before you and your company bloomed on the scene. The owner, Alexander Pierce, was nominated for peace awards and commemorated endlessly for this and that, but honestly the guy gave you weird vibes. You’ve met him countless times at dinners, fundraisers, events and what not and you just couldn’t shake this bad feeling. No one else saw it though, there were no bad articles to this guy’s name, no shit talking night show hosts going on about him in a political skit --  _nothing_. 

His company was a lot like yours in the fact that it donated to charities and philanthropies, but while your company only kept enough of the profits to pay its own employees and building up keep (you didn’t pay yourself much if you’re being honest, just what was law and necessary; you refused any and all bonuses the board tried to give you over the years), Pierce’s inner circle staff kept millions. Alexander explained in multiple interviews there was more than enough money to go around. 

It only made you dislike him more. 

You were so caught up in reading the article, you missed Barnes quietly stand from his desk and leave the office with his cell pressed to his ear. In your subconscious you noted it odd that he had a personal call during work hours, not to mention he even left your shared office to take said call. It’s not like he hasn’t had one or two emergencies over the years, one time it was his grandmother who fell on some slippery steps and needed to be taken to the ER, another time one of his sisters was going into labor and her husband was stuck in traffic so he wasn’t able to get her to the hospital so James had to drive her. 

Of course you always allowed him leave immediately, you weren’t evil. You understood life was sometimes unpredictable and messy. Your eyebrows dent a tick as you flick your sharp gaze over the horizon of your computer screen to watch the door click softly close behind him. 

Huh. 

 

* * *

Barnes returns in time for your afternoon board meeting, falling into step at your flank as you strut down the hallway to the sizable board room without so much as a word. 

Huh. 

It’s not like Barnes kept many secrets from you, but he did have a personal life. You’re not sure why you care so much, why you want to feel  _hurt_ that he is keeping you out of it. With a sharp exhale you remind yourself that he doesn’t owe your controlling crazy ass one goddamn thing if it’s not work related. You ignore your sinking heart as you brush past Barnes holding the glass door open for you with practiced ease. 

 

* * *

**Month 3**

A crisp slip of paper is slid onto your desk. 

You don’t pull your eyes away from the budget chart on your desktop screen for another five minutes before realizing, Barnes is still standing there obviously waiting for you to acknowledge what ever it is he placed beside your keyboard. With a small impatient huff you swiftly whip your attention down to the piece of parchment and scan it. 

Your heart stops clean in your chest. The world freezes over. 

You read it again. And again. And again, until Barnes speaks.

“I’m resigning.” He articulates evenly, coolly, and surprisingly emotionless. 

With your lips parting you look up only to be met with James’ broad back as he walks quietly to his desk, sits down, and picks up the phone that starts ringing.

 

* * *

Bucky wasn’t sure what he was expecting your reaction to be when he gave you that letter of resignation, but for some reason it wasn’t this. It wasn’t complete  _silence_. Like it wasn’t a big deal that he was quitting, like the past few years full of late night office work, gala outings, grueling board meetings, long international skype calls, last minute mark ups, and everything inbetween wasn’t worth anything but deafening goddamn  _silence._

It’s not like he wanted a huge deal to be made of his decision, but at least a fucking  _thank you_ would have been more than appropriate. Bucky’s bitterness grows, overshadowing the tiny voice in his head that still believed you weren’t a lost cause --  _a flash of a rare beautiful smile_ , and he thanks every higher power that he choose to take HYDRA Inc’s job offer to be Pierce’s associate CEO. It’s definitely a far cry from head assistant (even if you trusted him with much more than you did a normal assistant, you still treated him like one). 

With a minute shake of his head, Bucky focuses back in on the call he just picked up and decides the first thing he is going to do, is grow his hair back out. 

 

* * *

**Month 5**

It’s been two months without James Barnes and you still have not recovered. Of course you don’t let this effect the success of your company, but personally its a blow you could have never predicted nor dodged. 

 _‘It’s going to be yours though,’_  you wanted to say to him,  _‘the company, all of it. I wanted it to be yours.’_  

You still haven’t hired someone into his vacant spot. It’s your way of saying no one could replace him. Sure you’ve interviewed people but none of them feel right. None of them are James. The rumor mill runs and churns as normal, and you’ve been getting a plethora of interesting looks lately as you walk your halls, but its nothing you can’t handle. Instead of delegating the work you were slowly handing out to Barnes, you just take it all on yourself. You don’t trust anybody else with it anyway. 

You heard Barnes is the new associate CEO at HYDRA Inc. and you wonder how he is doing, if he likes it there, if they’re treating him well. A few times you almost called him to ask, but then quickly realized you had no right to those answers considering how poorly you treated him. If you were being completely and totally --  _nakedly_ \-- honest with yourself, you knew you missed him. And not his prowess as a partner at work, but as a presence in your life. 

He was the little bright spot on the other side of your office, the comforting shadow always in your peripherals. James is kind and smart and genuine and fair and everything you want to be. You realized that you made him in your image, creating the best version of yourself and molding him into it. And not only did he live up to your expectations, he surpassed them. He surpasses  _you_.

Oh God did you miss him. 

You wished upon every star that he was happy and that he was getting everything he deserved, because that sure as hell wasn’t you. 

 

* * *

**Month 10**

Hesitating only a few seconds, you walk straight into HYDRA Inc’s grand entrance, choosing the center set of glass double doors to enter from. 

The few companies that are like yours (clean businesses that donate to philanthropies and the like) have a master meeting at HYDRA Inc today. It’s a huge collaboration that will go down in the books for sure. The media have been crazy all month over it. Usually you would have brought Barnes with you to such a meeting so as to not miss out on a great learning experience and chance to expand his knowledge, but you come alone today. 

You still haven’t found a replacement for him. 

A part of you is nervous and not because of the meeting, but because James will most certainly not only be there, but be  _participating_ in it. You find yourself also a bit excited to watch him speak and display how capable he is to so many experienced eyes, eyes of the world. He was promoted to head CEO in the last few months and the media is saying he’s destined for great things. James had risen in HYDRA’s ranks faster than any other employee ever had before. Apparently he was Pierce’s favorite; ‘ _Barnes will shape the upcoming century_ ’ he claimed in an interview a few weeks back. But all this didn’t shock you much. James Barnes was everyone’s favorite...even yours.  

Especially yours. 

Secretly, his constant good news made you very proud, not bitter like everyone expected you to feel and act. You never stopped following James’ progress, it was the only way you felt you could keep tabs on him knowing direct contact was out of the question.  

You subtly scan for him as everyone gathers in the window-lined grand meeting room, the paparazzi and media all stuffed outside trying to get pictures of the thirty-fourth floor. Almost immediately you spot him. He’s flanking Pierce as the aging blonde man shakes a couple of people’s hands. Though, you find it strange that James doesn’t also shake their hands, and that Pierce doesn’t gesture or seem to introduce Barnes to who he’s talking to. 

With great effort you tear your attention away from them and carefully place yourself at one end of the table. You and Pierce were the great bookends of this collaboration, you felt no shame in claiming one of the two head seats. A few people came up to greet you and you reciprocated the small talk politely while organizing your papers and booting up your tablet in front of you. This was going to be a lengthy meeting because there are so many things to discuss. There were even be a couple breaks because it would be so long. 

“Ms. Y/l/n!” You school your features and look up preparing yourself for a very unsubtle cock swinging battle. 

“Mr. Pierce,” Comes your cool response as Alexander sits at the other end of the long table, signaling everyone else to take their seats as well. James remains standing to the right of Pierce’s high-backed chair. 

 _Odd_ , you think,  _shouldn’t James be taking his own seat now too?_

“I’m sorry to have stolen away your secret weapon that you kept hidden away all those years,” Pierce starts off loudly, gesturing clearly to James standing behind him without breaking eye contact with you, “It seems you haven’t found another quite like him, seeing as you’ve come by yourself today.”

So skipping the false pleasantries then.

“Mr. Barnes is his own man, I kept him no where.” You say in a decidedly more respectful and unassuming tone, “And no I have not. He left very large shoes to fill and no one less than worthy will be walking in them.” 

James seems to freeze at your words even though he was already standing strangely still. He hadn’t looked at you since you came in and even now, is outright refusing to meet your eye. You guess it’s the least you deserve considering you denied him that basic level of respect all those years. 

“I see,” Pierce gruffs with a perfect politician’s smile, “He is quite the asset.” 

You only nod and take a breath, “If Mr. Barnes would like to take a seat, we will begin.” 

Pierce furrows his brows as, for the first time, James looks at you. His eyes are wide, like you’ve just said something so profoundly moving and not just simply asked him to take a seat at the table. The room pauses in this weird stalemate as Pierce seems to be working through some sort of internal dumbfoundness, 

“He’s find standing.” Is Alexander’s eventual response as he waves a dismissive hand in James’ direction. 

Automatically you want to fight him on that,  _especially_ since there is an empty seat diagonally to your right, but you let it go. This meeting is about funding a great cause, not a boxing match for egos.

 

* * *

The meeting starts off with the usual unnecessary introductions and opening remarks, the rough discussion timeline, and other straggling last minute notes. Throughout the whole first hour James does nothing but stand silently behind Pierce. 

It  _infuriates you._

How dare Pierce waste such talent? How dare he just allow all that potential to petrify behind him? 

You can practically hear Barnes’ inner monologue, nearly predict all of his comments on the new agenda timeline or suggested budget idea, you even find yourself voicing some of them yourself knowing how similar Barnes and your business minds are. By the time Pierce calls for the first refreshment break, you’re nearly tearing your hair out. 

Never have you gotten this flustered or worked up over something during a meeting. Your professionalism is  _unparalleled..._ until you find yourself snapping and following Barnes out of the meeting room to the refreshments laid out on a buffet table in the hall. You take a breath to brace yourself for this encounter, before sliding in beside Barnes who is putting together a cup of coffee. 

There is a respectful amount of room between your elbows as you pretend to look over the scone selection. Your mouth stays shut no matter how many times you try to open it. When Barnes finishes pouring the coffee you panic and grab the creamer, holding it out for him to take knowing he likes to basically drown his coffee with it. 

James looks startled as he stares down at your hand offering him the creamer, almost like he can’t believe it. You’re not sure why, but he has been acting strange all morning. 

“No thank you,” Barnes eventually gets out, shaking his head a little and pointedly avoids eye contact with you as he turns away.

“You drink your coffee black now?” You attempt to joke, or at least lighten up the mood. I mean sure James and you never had much camaraderie, you liked to keep things formal, but he was never this...this shy? 

No it wasn’t bashfulness, what was this? You’d never seen Barnes act this way before and it  _baffled_ you. It took James a good minute before he sent a quick glance over his turned shoulder and said, in a very quiet --  _ashamed --_ voice, 

“It’s not for me.”   

Before you could question him further, you watched in shocked fury, James walk back to Pierce sitting in his head chair and place the cup on the table for him. It was like Barnes was  _serving_ him. It was only the years of learning to control your facial expressions that kept you from outright snarling. You might not have been the most polite to James, but you sure as hell gave him the opportunities he deserved. Why was Barnes letting himself be used like this? He was the goddamn CEO of HYDRA Inc and he wasn’t even allowed a seat at the table? He was only good enough to go fetch Pierce’s coffee? 

The internal shrieking in your head doesn’t quiet as, still standing where Barnes left you, James comes back and picks up a scone or two. Before he can flee your side once more you grab his tux-covered forearm in a halting grip. You feel James jolt under your touch and snap his gaze to your profile as you remain staring as neutrally as you can manage, at Pierce through the window-wall into the meeting room. 

You  _knew_ the guy was a piece of work. You always got bad vibes. 

Without a word to Barnes you pick up the opposite flavors he had chosen for Pierce, and strut back into the room. 

“Your scones,” You say in a hard monotone as you gently place the napkin of scones down before Alexander. 

Pierce nearly jumps in his throne as he looks up and sees your sharp gaze piercing down at him. You say nothing more as you regally walk to the empty chair near yours, place down your personal plate of scones, a napkin, and a cup of coffee made to James’ taste. And just like that Pierce recognizes the threat for what it is because he doesn’t stop Barnes from wearily sitting down at the place you obviously set up for him.  

As everyone slowly works their way back into the room, you hand over a spare notepad, one of those ink pens James likes over the ballpoints, and call the meeting to order without looking at either James or Pierce once. 

 

* * *

The next two hours fly by. 

You incorporate James into the discussion and just as effortlessly as you knew he would, Barnes held up his arguments and opinions articulately and intelligently. The whole table comes to quickly respect him realizing they have a business genius in their midst. Your pride comes back to warm your stone heart as you watch him prove to everyone how worthy he is to be apart of this. 

Pierce of course takes everything in stride. He can’t be seen as too much of a jerk and you wonder what you could do for James. You realize:  _nothing_ , because why would James want to come back to work for you? You’re not as awful as Pierce, you’re at least fair when it comes to business opportunity, but you know he deserves better than just that. When the meeting finally closes out Pierce, with a great boasting voice, says,

“Now you all know how lucky a steal Barnes over there is,” James and you both freeze, “What a soldier of the cause huh?”

You swallow your wrath at the fact that Pierce just turned Barnes hard earned respect of everyone in the room, into a pat on the back for himself. He just  _stole_  all of James’ success and labeled it ‘Mine’. Your potent disgust sits like acid in the back of your throat as you continue to clean up your area, while everyone agrees with Pierce and the farewell chatter starts back up again.

 

* * *

Before you could leave, Bucky steels his resolve and stands up from his chair. 

“Here,” He says quietly as he places the notepad and ink pen neatly in front of you, his own notes ripped out and folded in his pocket. 

You stare down at the items for few quiet beats before barking with such familiar detachment, 

“You’re welcome.” 

Bucky almost smiles at that tone, at how familiar it is even after months of not hearing it. 

“Thank you.” Bucky practically whisphers to you, meaning the words to be applied to much more than the notepad and pen. 

He watches you pause in your seat, still not having touched the returned belongings, and lift your face just enough so he could see you carefully shift your gaze to his hand resting on the desk. For some reason the held glance at his hand felt more intimate than if you were to actually look at him.

“If you ever want to,” You start abruptly but cut yourself off just as suddenly, causing Bucky’s heart to stop, his lungs to cease pumping, and everything inside him to go very very still, “If you ever want to, you -- you can.”

Bucky knows what you are offering, realizes that this is the most vulnerable he’s ever seen you in all the years he’s known you. 

“From CEO back down to assistant, I’ll think it over.” It’s hard to tell how you interpreted his response because he can hardly read his own tone, but he swears you flinch. 

“You were head assistant,” You trail off in an odd turn of events. Never once has the Wicked Bitch of the Best ever  _mumbled._  

Bucky doesn’t think the added 'head’ makes any difference so he doesn’t say anything, just watches you continue to stare at his hand. The moment churns into thick awkwardness and you both fail to hit the self eject button, like something is holding the two of you in this eternal stalemate. Like you’re waiting for a sign to act. Two tight coils ready to spring --

You stand from your chair with an audible inhale and before Bucky can move back, you lean in close enough that your lips tickle the grown-out shoulder length hair curling around Bucky’s ear. With a gentle, shy hand that comes up to steady itself against his chest, you whisper to him the truth. Bucky is struck to the spot as you retract back from his personal space and leave the room in your usual sweeping regal way. He remains shocked in your wake, hands limp at his sides, watching the spot you stood not a few seconds ago, unsure how to process what just happened. 

 

* * *

“ _You deserve better, James, you always did.”_

 

* * *

**Present Day**

It’s been about three months since you hushed in his ear that he deserved better. And it’s been about one month since Bucky started looking for a new job. Pierce is unaware of Bucky’s desire to move, but honestly Bucky could care less if he did find out. The guy was a fucking asshole and he wanted nothing more to do with him  _or_ his company. 

Funnily enough, it was Y/n who showed him at that meeting just how abused he was. How far he had let himself fall thinking he was paying his dues. 

_“You deserve better, James, you always did.”_

That was her way of telling him he was worth more than what he was being given. It was her version of an apology. Not that he completely forgave her for all that she put him through, but he started realizing that he did more as her ‘head assistant’ than he did as the CEO of HYDRA Inc. It started to get him thinking. 

The little things came back to him, how you remembered that he takes his coffee with creamer, that he prefers writing down his notes instead of typing them, that he likes the ink pens not the ballpoint ones. It astounded him a bit that you noticed those kinds of details. He thought you didn’t see him at all. 

Feeling a little high on the level of impulsion he is currently experiencing, Bucky taps the call option on his screen, and lifts his phone to his ear. 

 

* * *

You can do little more than breathe as you stare at your cell phone ringing on your desk. A pinky finger’s stretch away from your hand that rests on the computer mouse, blares a number that you can’t quite believe. 

_Oh God did you miss him._

And just like it froze, the moment shatters around you in fragments of broken glass, sharp and dangerous, as you make a mad grab for your phone. 

“Y/l/n speaking,” You automatically bark out when you shakily lift the phone to your ear, cringing at how formal and awkward that sounds especially since you knew it was him before picking up.

There is a slight pause before, “Ms. Y/l/n,” 

You can practically sense Barnes’ responding cringe on the other line at his answering formal weirdness. But how else would you have addressed each other? You conditioned him into this, it’s your fault. 

“I was wondering if you would be open to meeting up for lunch, I would like to discuss a few things with you.” Barnes starts off in a solid voice. 

A lunch date with an inquiring colleague or business partner is rather standard, and normally you wouldn’t hesitate, but sitting alone at your desk running on two hours of sleep, you stumble out of your perfect mold.

“Oh uh,” Comes your less than professional response, you scramble to recover, “That’s -- That would be fine. When would you be available to meet?”

“You’re not too busy? I mean your schedule as I recall is always booked down to the minute.” Barnes replies in a strained tone, obviously trying to allow some ease into the conversation with his born natural charm but failing miserably because it’s, well you. 

“I will make time for you.” 

The unexpected sincerity of the words that just left your mouth sends both James and you into shared shocked silence. Where is this un-put together element of you coming from? Your frustration only adds to your internal struggling. 

“Tomorrow at noon then? At the bistro across the street from you.” James suggests lightly, almost... _casually._

“You don’t want to meet somewhere in the middle? Isn’t it a drive from HYDRA all the way across town?” You counter, loosing more and more of your professionalism with each word. I mean you never cared much for other people’s convenience before. 

Barnes hesitates before saying, “It’s fine.” 

Not knowing what to say to that, you quickly agree and end the call with an abrupt goodbye. The second the screen goes black you close your eyes and breathe through the resounding horror that was that conversation. How terribly awkward and choppy you were and felt the whole time! What is  _with_ you? You’ve slept in the same room as him for Christ’s sake, why was that call so very hard? 

 

* * *

It’s not until you’re about to fall asleep that you realize the bistro James suggested to meet is where you always like to get your lunch from. Which means James remembered. 

You struggle to close your eyes and drift back off.

 

* * *

A quaint square table, adorned with a single daisy in a tiny glass vase, separates the two of you. The delicate flower wilts innocently towards Barnes and you steadfastly ignore the insistent finger the universe is using to point with this time.

Your briefcase feels like molten iron as it leans against the right legs of your chair and touches a bit of your ankle. You don’t know what possessed you to bring the papers that sign over your whole company to James, but you did. He initiated this lunch meeting, so he obviously has something to say, but for some reason you couldn’t resist bringing them. You weren’t even ready to sign them yourself, you weren’t done yet. But here you are anyways, soul, company, and life in hand ready to simply give over on some mysterious internal impulse. 

“Yes creamer please,” James requests as the waiter nods before grabbing both your menus and whisking off to put in your orders. 

Inevitable silence ensues. 

Barnes, recognizing his cue, clears his throat, clasps his hands on the table, and shifts forward a bit, 

“I’m leaving HYDRA.” He doesn’t wait for a response from you, doesn’t even look up from his hands, “And I was wondering if you would write me a referral.” 

Whatever it is you thought James was going to talk to you about during this little lunch meeting, for some reason this never crossed your mind. You allow yourself a moment to process that and you take a breath,

“Of course.” Comes your leveled response. 

Barnes looks up at you with a measuring glint in his eye, unsure how to read you what with how cool and monotone you sound. I mean if anyone can figure you out though, it’d be him. James seems to be a bit taken aback with how easy that was. It makes you... _sad_ for some reason. 

“Is that all?” You question, trying to gain some semblance of control because you sense you’re seconds away from fracturing apart like a cracked mirror. 

You feel like you’re on the brink of something massive and you’re not sure why. Like you’re scrambling at the very edge of an invisible waterfall, knowing your doom is near but unable to determine  _why_  or  _how_  you got to this point, let alone find a way to escape it. 

It’s terrifying.

“Um, yeah -- yes. Thank you. I really appreciate you doing that.” James wrangles out eventually after adjusting himself in his chair a bit, recovering from his lack of an initial response. 

“Why didn’t you ask Pierce to write one for you, he could easily set you up, has a lot connections as well.” You’re not sure why you asked that, you didn’t have to. But honestly you simply couldn’t stop yourself from  _pushing_ \--

“Because I choose you,” James starts then realizes what that sounds like and quickly stumbles over the next few sentences to correct himself, “No I mean, you -- I’ve worked with you longer and I’m more familiar with your clients and have connections with the people from our --  _your_ circle.” 

You’re speechless. 

There are so many things that just slipped out and you find yourself unable to  _quite_ wrap your head around it all. A few beats pass by and then...and then...

“James,” Your lips move and your voice breathes to life on its own accord, Barnes cringes as he connects his gaze with yours expecting a heated reprimand but instead -- 

You’ve just tipped over the waterfall. You’re falling...

You stand so abruptly from your seat it makes an awful screeching noise. James jumps up too almost like a reflex, and before something like logic can interfere with the decision making quadrant of your brain, your arm reaches across the petite table, your fingers grasp the fine thick silk of James’ tie, and you pull him in for a forceful blunt kiss. 

Everything becomes black fuzz apart from the bright warm touch of James’ lips pressed against yours. The universe pauses, time halts, everything just simply  _waits_. And then there is a big hand on your shoulder shoving you away and reality crushes something in your chest into unidentifiable rubble. 

His face comes into focus as you recover your balance, and the expression that holds reign there is complicated and  _confused._ And you don’t fucking blame him. 

“What --,” James starts before you frantically snatch up your briefcase, your purse, and actually sprint-walk out of there. 

You’re a coward and you know it but everything is coming crashing down and you’re not sure you’re going to survive it. And it’s not just Barnes’ rejection, its everything that’s been building up these past few years. You’ve never felt so discombulated and out of sync. You’re a  _mess --_

“Y/n!” 

You push out of the restaurant doors and walk as fast as you can onto the street. 

“Y/N!” 

Your eyes shut close, you drop your head for the first time in forever, and you haul forward even quicker. 

A gusting breath punches out of your lungs as an increasingly familiar strong hand grasps the crook of your elbow to stop you. You refuse to look at him, acting like a bashful child, as he attempts to turn you around to face him. 

“Y/n what, what is,” He can’t even finish his sentence because none of this is making sense to him. 

Join the club. It’s not like you have answers for him so instead of making up something, you finally lift your gaze that’s lined with salty tears and completely defeated, simply shrug.

 

* * *

She  _shrugs_.

Honestly Bucky doesn’t know whether to laugh or yell because what even -- ??

“I’ll still write your referral James, don’t worry.” She amends, probably assuming that’s why he chased her down, while squirming in his grip like a gazelle trying to escape the locked jaws of a hungry lion.   

Bucky is one, astounded because you called him by his name which was a fucking rarity in of itself, and two completely flabbergasted at the direction this afternoon is going. Like full on shell-shocked.

“No that’s, that’s not -- that’s great but I have a more pressing question for you.” Bucky begins as he draws in a little closer so that only a foot of space rests between you, finding himself testing these new dangerous waters you’ve just swan dived the both of you into. 

 _She_  kissed _me._

She turns her head slightly away from him as Bucky leans in just a tad more and murmurs, “Finish lunch with me?” 

 

* * *

It’s the most intimate offer you’ve ever been presented and not because of his words, but because of what the words secretly mean. He’s not done with you yet.

 

* * *

Bucky is not done with you yet. 

No way is he gonna let something like this slide. After years of waiting for the woman inside the robot to appear, he’s inconceivably hooked now. Whether he likes it or not. Nothing could persuade him from your side at this moment. 

He waits with baited breath for your answer until you nod and let him lead you back to the bistro side by side. That foot of space working hard to hold you two apart. 

 

* * *

The lunch while at first was painfully awkward, ended up going surprisingly smooth. You both fell back into your normal rhythm, like before, and it felt. . .it felt  _nice_. You haven’t felt  _nice_ in so long, and you realized how whenever Barnes --  _James_ \-- was around, that aching hollow pain inside you dulled. Sometimes it even disappeared all together. He was your release and you’re pretty sure you always knew that. It’s why you kept him so close. 

You both pay for your own meals and before you walk your separate ways (you to work across the street, and James to HYDRA across town), you carefully put your hand on his forearm to stop him. He turns to you in front of the restaurant and waits patiently as you fiddle with the handle of your briefcase. 

“I am so sorry for the way I treated you,” You begin softly, James  _inhales_ , “I know saying that could never be enough but I figured its a good place to start.” 

You look up at him, brave his gaze, and say it again, “I’m sorry. You deserved better.” 

Barnes lips had parted a bit, but he closes them after a few beats, puts his hands in his pant pockets, and drops his gaze to his feet. There is a minute of apocalyptic silence, before he simply nods, eyes still locked on the ground. It’s not much but its more than you deserve. You take the moment to observe how he had let his hair grow back out and feel sharp stinging sensation in your chest. 

“Well, I’ll see you around.” James closes out as he glances up at you from under his lashes with a strange look in his eye, “And thank you again for the referral.” 

“No thanks are necessary.” You nearly mumble as James nods one more time and turns on his heel. 

Again you’re hit with the desire to call after him and say,  _‘Yours, it’s yours. The company, I wanted it to be all yours.’_

But you don’t, because logic seemed to be functioning in your brain again.

 

* * *

You work relentlessly on his referral. Making it the best piece of written work you’ve ever produced. You send it to him along with a list of partners and fellow owners/CEOs you’ve talked up for him (not that he needed much if any fluffing, James’ hard work and genius results spoke for itself). He sent a gracious thank you email back with all the correct formal appropriation. It made you feel lonely, the formality, even if it’s always been how you maintained your relationship with him. 

Then you feel horridly embarrassed because you remember the mortifying kiss in the bistro. You still can’t believe you did that. It was so impulsive it left you feeling  _sick_. You’ve never been an impulsive person, never lost control of your own self discipline like that before. It’s like you had been possessed, like you were overridden and put in the passenger seat in your goddamn brain.  

You find yourself continually thinking of James, sometimes just wondering how he’s doing, and other times nurturing this dense loneliness that only can be cured by him. Somehow, when you kissed him, you allowed your subconscious free reign when it came to your former assistant. You allowed yourself to acknowledge something you never planned to. 

And it was torture.

 

* * *

Bucky spent the next week conversing with various owners and CEOs and doing prestigious interview after prestigious interview. Unsurprisingly they all wanted him on their team, all offered him these wonderful bonuses and perks he never had working for Y/n but go a taste of with Pierce. In all honesty, he didn’t care much for the money. He know he should, society tells him so, but he just doesn’t. He has more than enough to live comfortably, he doesn’t need anymore. 

Nothing seemed to draw him to one company or another, not the location, position, company mission, salary,  _nothing_. The one thing that kept popping up in his mind at very inopportune moments though, was the feel of Y/n’s lips smashing against his over that frickin little daisy at the bistro. It’s like his memory is stuck on replay, going over and analyzing every second --  _every angle --_ of that moment. And with each new perspective, he gained more color in his cheeks and more of an undeniable desire to see her again.

Sure he hadn’t fully forgiven her for the years of mistreatment, but he knew that’s not who she was. Not really. He knew he meant something to her, held value if nothing else. Bucky also knew what she had been put through. That her journey to success was gritty and nasty and impossible. He knew it probably changed her and that _, that_ he could forgive. 

And she also  _apologized_. Twice. Out loud. And looked him in the eye while doing it. 

Y/n wasn’t a lost cause, she was just one of those people stuck in their own maze, and if you went after them you were more than likely to get lost with them. But Bucky thinks he can brave that maze, he thinks he’s always been able to --  _wanted to._ The time just never felt right when he worked for her, there was always something holding him back telling him she wasn’t worth it. He’s not sure what’s convinced him now (because kiss or no kiss something within her has definitely shifted, he can sense it) is the time, but he’s decided it is. 

With a loaded breath, he picks up his phone and sends his former boss and bane of his existence, a text. 

 

* * *

“Thanks for meeting me...again.” Bucky starts as he tries not to make it too obvious he’s staring. 

You’re in the privacy of your office, but everyone has the day off so it’s just you two in the building. Now this is not what has Bucky a bit shocked over, because he’s spent many days off with you in the office doing extra work, it’s just...its  _you_. 

You’re wearing a nice pair of leggings and a comfortable looking sweatshirt that comes down to about mid-thigh. A pair of Nike running shoes top off the outfit along with your hair that sits loosely in a messy ponytail. He’s never seen you look so  _casual_  and so...

“James?” You say as you tuck a few stray baby hairs behind your ear a bit self-conscious with him staring so blatantly.

...so effortlessly,  _overwhelmingly_ attractive.

Sure you were always beautiful, but in a cold removed kind of way. Like a greek statue: expressionless and ethereal -- untouchable. But now, you just look downright irresistible. 

“I apologize for my lack of appropriate attire,” You concede, sounding like you’re about to start rambling which Bucky never once remembered you doing, “You just texted me and I was already here, I didn’t have time to go home and change --,”

“No no, it’s completely fine,” Bucky assures quickly, trying to keep the greedy twinge out of his voice as he scrambles to get a handle on his libido.  _Damn_ you look so good right now, “It’s my fault for giving you such short notice and dropping by like this. I just know you work on holidays so,” 

As Bucky trails off, the once hated stiff uncomfortable office grows cozy around him as silence descends. The air feels dense and heavy as it filters in the space between you, forming an invisible magnetic orb that is slowly encouraging both of you closer. Pulling two polar opposites together. 

 

* * *

Looking back, you still aren’t quite sure how you allowed yourself to surrender down to this, how  _years_ of fornicated walls and mental mazes simply crumbled under what should have been an insignificant moment. How a moment that should have just been filler, the breath or two before the important bit, became an inescapable bracketed  _infinity_.

Overwhelming. Raw. Violent. Naked. Inexorable.

Each feeling ravaged you. Took you over and swept you away with such sparkling agony, such resplendent fear, that you quite literally could not breathe. Your heart skipped a beat. Your soul pulsed once, twice,  _thrice_ before the grey veil draped over the world parted to reveal a new one. One that burst with severe endless color and pure unposioned hope _._ And through all the beautiful possibility that lay before you, awaiting only your choice -- your  _action_ , you realized that at the center of this fragile blooming reality, stood James Barnes.

“James,” Your voice is hoarse but you swallow and force yourself to continue, “You -- I have always found you to be extraordinary.” 

Barnes goes back to staring at you, rendered once again speechless at the sheer unpredictably simple beauty of you talking to him,  _really_ talking to him. With your doors open, walls down, maze burnt to ashes, and eyes alive with this energy, this esoteric vibrancy that speaks of a soul held captive too long. 

“You’re drive,” You take a step forward, “You’re kindness, you’re wicked little talent of taking the blame for people,” A rare smile finds its way to your lips once more, “You’re humility, you’re understanding of the world and you’re need to help it,” A foot of space separates you as you finish with a whisper, “All of it.” 

The two of you breathe each other’s air for a few beats, hearts singing to each other in the silence, souls reaching through matter and flesh to touch, and gazes cradling their target -- engulfing and mixing and clashing and brewing until something splendidly fragile is born. And this sparkling new reality accepts your first action, and gives you your outcome. 

You both lean in at exactly the same time. 

And instead of a grasping, forceful reveal of scrambled emotions and coded affection like the first kiss was, this one remains innocent as all new things are innocent. It’s tentative and breakable and in a certain light, could be considered weak. But weak, for you at least, is new. It’s new to be weak, to be unsure, to be afraid, to be vulnerable, to be truly... _alive_. To experience life the way it sometimes needs to be experienced. 

Pure gilded  _sensation_ rolls through you then, and both James and you inhale through your noses. Some kind of subtle but unmistakable grace links you two, it always has. And as your heads tilt and the kiss deepens, you both sense it --  _taste it_  on each other like a stamp or mark. That inexplicable feeling that let’s you know that this person, this being right here, is it. The one who will challenge you and drive you and learn from you and teach you and love you and most of all, show you life in all its raw, giving, and contradicting beauty. 

James’ hands lift to cup your face as you both break for air. Your eyes remain close as your shaky breaths billow against each other. The shock at the intensity of what you two share grips you both in a hold that promises to never loosen. 

“I think I have always loved you.” You find yourself whispering to his parted slick lips that still hover a breath away, “Please give me your time, time to allow me a chance to undo my wrongs to you. I know it might take awhile, but everytime you look back,” Opening your eyes you find James already gazing down at you with absolute rapture, a feeling so raw you can see how thoroughly it destroys  _and_ strengths him through the windows of his eyes, “I will always be there with an apology and a real, if a bit reluctant, smile.” 

He hesitates not out of suspicion, but out of respect for the vow you just made him. 

“I accept your terms.” James finally hushes back and you both laugh into each other’s mouths when they press together in a sealing kiss at the formality of his answer. 

 

* * *

**A Year Later**

You sit at your desk, as cool collected and detached as usual. 

Bucky stares at you from across the office and finds himself fighting a smile at the cinched expression on your face. It means you’re focused so he doesn’t bother teasing you about it. 

Just as he looks back to his own desktop screen the new assistant comes shuffling in the glass doors. 

You spare the eighteen-year-old a mildly exasperated glance as the boy trips but manages to catch the papers he’s carrying before they scatter everywhere. The guy has unusually sharp reflexes. With a tug on your self control, you stop your fond eye roll and get back to your email.

It’s Bucky who waves the kid over and taps an empty corner of his desk, signaling that’s where he wants Peter Parker to put them. Peter shuffles over and with that charming goofy smile of his, and dramatically plops the stack of charts down. 

“Sorry Mr. Barnes sir,” Parker huffs, putting on a show of being out of breath, and leaning both hands against the edge of Bucky’s desk while hanging his head like he just ran a marathon, “But it wasn’t accounting that turned in these late, I just --,” Peter lifts his head and starts to honest to god fan himself (the kid wasn’t even sweating), “Phew! I just wasn’t able to get them to you fast enough.” 

Bucky deadass  _stares_  at Parker. Expression flat and trying to erase all traces of severe amusement, Bucky clears his throat and motions for Parker to lean as if to whisper. Peter enthusiastically draws near to hear what his boss has to say, 

“You might want to work on your excuses,” Bucky stage whispers, “But go ahead, I’ll cover for you.” He finishes with an unsubtle nod in your direction across the room. 

You continue to type away on your computer as if oblivious to this entire comical exchange. 

Immense relief washes over Peter’s face as he swallows and says in a matching hushed tone, “Oh  _thank you_ Bucky, Mr. Barnes, sir. And I will work on them, pinky swear.”

Bucky mouths ‘ _Google_ ’ at Parker as he bumbles out of the room. Before the kid closes the door, he gives a serious thumbs up to Bucky in response to the tip. In the resounding silence after Peter’s exit, you both catch eyes and smile so wide your teeth show. 

You shake your head and wrench your gaze back to your screen, biting your lip to keep your smile from breaking your cheeks. 

“You’re too easy on him James.” You mock-scold. 

“And you’re too hard on him Y/n.”  Comes Barnes playful rebuke.

“Well then,” You say in a newly discovered  _coy_ tone as you once again find your gaze drawn back to Bucky, whom of which is still smirking at you from across the room, “It’s a good thing Parker has the two of us doesn’t it. We just can’t help but balance each other out it seems,  _partner_.” 

Bucky grins wider at the word ‘partner’, knowing how much you like to use it now a days considering you both own and run this company  _together_ , as a team -- as equals. 

James shrugs all nonchalant-like, “A little good cop bad cop never hurt nobody.” 

“Is that so?” You raise your eyebrow at him, recognizing that rumble in his tone and knowing where this situation was heading. You absolutely weren’t complaining.  

“It is.” He responds before his face drops slowly into an expression of heated, reckless --  _gloriously unashamed --_  want, which you match ten fold.

You both make use of the uncluttered side of your desk, and just as clothes start coming off, you’re rudely interrupted. Both Steve  _and_ Peggy walk in, followed promptly by two startled exclamations of:

“Oh God!”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the support, and I’m sorry again it took a bit to update, but I hope it was worth the wait :( much love and thanks to @theassetseyeliner for the prompt and your patience with me! Also sorry for any grammar mistakes and stuff ugh i tried xxx

**Author's Note:**

> And yes it’ll only be two parts...probably. lol. leave a comment in you wanna and your support is always appreciated! I promise to answer and respond to all my messages soon! xxx


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